How to Survive and Die Trying
by Tribble Master
Summary: Dean and Sam, RIP. Sam and Dean walk down the crypt corridor searching for an exit. Every body they find on the marble slabs bears an errie resmblance. Set third season, dark.


**Disclaimer: **Krpkie's play toys, not mine.

**How to Survive _and _Die Trying**

…tap…tap…tap…

"What do you think it is? Why would your name be on--"

"I don't know, Sam! Shut up and let me crack the damn thing open."

…tap…tap…_crunch…_

"Holy shit. Is that—are you—Holy Shit."

Dean glares at Sam and then back down at the body on the marble slab. The green eyes, the chiseled jaw, the dirty blonde hair—it's identical to him. It is him. Except, of course, Dean's temple doesn't have a red powder burn mark on it. Dean's temple isn't open; his thoughts aren't exposed for everyone to see.

Sam looks at the corpse and then down the hallway. "There must be hundreds of bodies down here."

"Yeah, and at the end of that tunnel must be the exit." Dean grunts as he pushes his corpse back inside. "Let's just get the hell out and ask questions later."

But that was hours ago. It was ridiculously simple back then. Find the body in the crypt and burn the bones. Six feet under.

Or something like that.

But there's only two bodies down here, repeating endlessly, and it wasn't what they were looking for at all. Dean leans against the marble wall and sinks down to the floor. He puts his head in his hands. "Sam," he says softly, "don't make me open the next one."

Sam holds the flashlight with a trembling hand. "Yeah," he says numbly, "I'll get it."

Above Dean's head is another plaque, and behind it on a slab is a body. The bodies vary in shape and size—sometimes all that's there are itty bitty pieces, and sometimes the body is unscathed. Peacefully sleeping in a way that's anything but.

Sam looks down at Dean and then back up. He breaks open the crypt.

This time the body on the slab is wearing Dean's face. Sam's eyes widen in shock, but he's way past screaming.

"It's me, isn't it?" Dean offers, kneading the sides of his head. "It's me again, huh Sam?"

Sam's eyes are frozen on the neck of the corpse. The head is tilted back, with its jaw just slightly open. The vertebrae are exposed; two little white bones bloody and raw. The slice across the neck is jagged. "Looks like it," Sam says after a while. "Slit your throat."

Dean sighs and stands up. He looks to the left. To the right. Up. Down. Anywhere but the body pulled out by his elbow. "Let's move on then."

The crypt is one large hallway. The hallway is lined with plaques labeling what's put in the wall. A series of marble slabs hidden. In every one is a body. Some have little flower vases attached to the side. There's an old gas lamp by others. The dirt floor is pounded by their steps. There's not a solid cobweb in the place anymore. Dean and Sam keep tramping up and down the corridor. Sometimes it's a mile long, sometimes it's short.

There's no door. No exit or entrance.

There's only brass plaques.

Sam Winchester—Brave Little Solider, buried here.

Dean Winchester—Never could get the job done, buried here.

Dean opens the next tomb unenthusiastically. Sam looks down at the face before him and feels ice fall down his back.

Dean reaches out a hand to close the eyes of Sam Winchester, deceased. The eyes slide back open though. The face is raked with three long claw marks and the body ends mid torso. But there's a smile on the face, and the eyes are golden. Still playful. Enjoying some game.

Sam tugs on Dean's sleeve. "Let's move on."

Dean still stands there. After a moment, his lips curl into a smile. Then he starts to chuckle, a faint "heh, heh, heh."

"Dean!" Sam commands grabbing his jacket and pulling his brother. "Let's move on!"

Dean actually burst out laughing at that idea. He starts to shake and points at the body before him. "Hell hound chew toy?" he laughs at the joke.

Sam spins his brother around and shakes him violently. "Dean, god damnit, I'm not doing this alone. Keep moving! We're almost--"

Dean stops laughing and pushes Sam away. "Almost what?" His face falls and his eyes lose all mirth. "Almost dead?"

"No!" Sam yells back and points to the end of the corridor. "There's got to be a key. In one of these tombs! We've just got to--"

"I don't think you understand, Sam." Dean growls. "They're the only ones getting out."

Dean spins around, and settles on the plaque in front of him. He smashes it open and pulls out the body. It's his face that's swollen and blue, his eyes that are blood shot and yellow. Drowning in a serene way. He points down at it, "They understand." He looks down at his corpse and smiles gently. "You understand me, right?"

The jaw moves slightly, like a twitch. Or a nod.

Sam runs his fingers through his hair and groans. "Dean, they can't hear you."

Dean's eyes don't break away from the corpse as he says coldly, "Sam, why do you always want to hold me back?"

"What?"

Dean looks up at him. "I fucking died for you." Before Sam can defend himself, or say anything else, Dean's standing over him. "I'm not talking about that cross roads bitch. I'm taking about Stanford. You left me alone, to die. To let my dreams die. What the hell kind of brother does that?"

"I didn't mean to leave you--"

"And here we are, and you're begging me- don't leave me alone." Dean scowls and pushes his arms out, catching Sam in the chest. Sam stumbles backwards. "Screw you, Sam. They understand me better than you can."

Dean recedes into the shadows of the hallway. He finds another tomb, and opens it. Sam smiles and frowns up at him. Half of his face is devoured in flame, twisting his lips in a two faced sort of way. The other side of his face is still soft, unharmed. One eye is black and hollow, the other inviting and hazel. The charred flesh starts to flake as its jaw moves achingly slow. But Dean has patience. Dean can listen.

He can hear Sam approaching.

"We're all dead." Dean says softly. "That's the only way to live in this world. It can't hurt if you're dead."

"Dean, I think I see something up ahead," Sam interrupts.

"Me to." Dean mumbles, reaching for his gun. He looks down at the corpse and winks playfully. Holding the pearl handed gun steady to his temple, he takes a deep breath. His breathing brother is beside him in seconds, screaming at him. Begging him not to do anything, don't even think about pulling—

Dean fires the gun.

Sam falls to his knees. There's one more corpse in the room. It's warm.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He can't move his arms more than two inches up or down or sideways. There's no room past his toes, and he can't tilt his head back. He's got a pounding headache, and his hand is clenched to the point of cramping. As small and confining as the space is, there's still fresh air pouring through. He takes a deep breath and enjoys it.

He understands this place. He knows what's expected of him here.

He's never felt more alive.

…tap…tap…tap…

He leans his head back to look at what's going on. The brass plaque keeping him inside is being broken open. With a crunch, he is revealed. The slab's pulled out.

"Holy shit. Is that-- are you-- Holy shit."

Dean looks up into his own eyes and winks.

They'll figure it out soon enough.

**_…tap…tap…tap…for another the end_**


End file.
